Defying the Norm
by Illisandria Carthain
Summary: When I got asked to join Jörmungadr, I knew it was my chance to ask Deadly Nadder out. Unfortunately, someone beat me to the punch by asking ME out: Night Fury. The worst bit? Night Fury is a guy. And he is persistent. Modern age AU. Sex, drugs, and Rock & Roll
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: Welcome to the first and much-anticipated chapter of "Defying the Norm", the "Jörmungadr Rising" rewrite. Consider it my little gift to you, this amazing piece of literature here. And if you cannot tell, I have been living in the Homestuck fandom as of late so my writing is very reminiscent of the common style there. I constantly had to correct my second-person and present-tense writing. And I'm afraid you can't expect too frequent an update schedule, and I'm sorry. RL is kicking my butt and I was lazy to begin with so…I suppose I can try. No promises though! Also, many thanks to inuyashas-grrl97 for the motivation and the eventual cover art. :3 THANKS LOVE! Now…on to the only warning and disclaimer you will get through this entire series (partially because I hate making these warnings, and partially because...well...I'm lazy)!)**

**¡DISCLAIMER!  
I, Illisandria Carthain, do not claim anything in this story that you recognize. How to Train Your Dragon the series belongs to Cressidia Cowell and _How to Train Your Dragon_ the movie and TV series _Riders of Berk_ belong to Dreamworks SKG. Anything you see that comes from either of these two sources are not mine. However, the song lyrics by Jörmungadr are written by me, as are some of the characters (yes, there are OCs; they're SUPPORTIVE only).  
¡/DISCLAIMER!**

**¡WARNING!  
This story, in its entirety, is an M-rated AU and therefore will contain copious amounts of some, if not all, of these things: soft drug use/hard drug abuse, sex/mentions of sex/explicit descriptions of sexual situations, rape of both men and women, mentions of sexual paraphernalia, phallic/morbid/disgusting or otherwise offensive imagery, racist jokes, gay jokes/slang/bashing, religion wars, lots and lots of colorful language, sarcasm out the wazoo, teenage hormones and drama and other teenage shit, alcohol, parties that your parents never let you go to because the thought you'd get completely smashed (and they were right), swearing, emotional tension, familial issues, homosexuality, heterosexuality, bisexuality, way too much sexuality, cursing, MMORPGs, examples of bullying (verbal, physical, and emotional), abuse (physical, mental, emotional, and sexual), politics (did I mention there are naughty words?), seven-letter-words, mentions of/contraction of sexually transmitted diseases, possible character death, sloppy makeouts, filling of all four quadrants (although not necessarily directly mentioned…let the shipping begin!), the Talk, self-harm, internet shenanigans, typical fame-based bullshit, adultery, crossdressing, genderbending, human!Toothless, names you may not recognize but actually belong to someone you know, mental-disorders, high school, and general M-rated naughtiness. If any of these things bother you, may be triggers, or make you uncomfortable then turn away. Matters such as rape and self-harm are not taken lightly here, while all others are usually humorous. Flames do not bother me because if CU decides to hate on me, I can always move this to AO3 when my account gets approved. That is all.  
¡/WARNING!**

**NORMAL IS BORING ****— DEFY EXPECTATIONS**

Berk High School is the very definition of Hell. Honestly, look up the word in your nearest dictionary and you will find a picture of a decrepit, run-down, disgusting schoolhouse with the caption "_Abandon hope, all ye who enter here_." If you think that's a joke, that you can't judge a book by it's cover, then you are horribly mistaken.

"Oh," you say, "surely it can't be that bad," you argue. "The building's horrifying front is just that, a front used to scare off any that are unworthy to step into its lavish halls and begin the wonderful art of learning in an unbiased environment," you surmise.

**Bull. Shit**.

The hallways are anything but lavish and, supposedly were once a white color, but that's rather hard to believe considering the paint has long peeled off and the walls are now a combination of cinderblock-grey and rotting-wood-green. The carpeting looks like my grandmother's cat before she died of mange and the tile is so scuffed that you tend to make it _cleaner_ by kicking at it. The roof leaks _everywhere_, when it holds out any water at all; the pipes rattle and groan like zombies are trying to crawl from their bowels, hungry for human flesh; the bathrooms are clogged up or covered in shit ninety-nine times out of one hundred; if the windows close, they don't open and if they open, they'll never close again; the thermostat is so broken that outside is actually _warmer_ in the winter and _cooler_ in the summer compared to the classrooms; the gymnasium is more of a health hazard than the bathrooms, what with all the massive amounts of broken equipment everywhere; the lunch room is like a roach hotel except when _they_ check in, _you'll_ never check out again. Supposedly, the animals you dissect in biology are actually caught in the building itself, and most of them come from the kitchen. And that's just the building.

There's only one math teacher and he's as old as numbers himself. You'd be lucky if he remembers to put on his pants, let alone grade your finals. The history teacher belongs in the Middle Ages with how prudish she is. Granted, it's not like everyone is vying for a glance at her A-cups, but the lady wears a _chastity belt_ for God's sake. There are two science teachers: one teaches biology and anatomy and the other teaches general and life sciences and both are as mad as a hatter. The bio-slash-anatomy teacher is a nymphomaniac and a necrophile and likes to prostate himself before the entire class. Yes, _him_self. The life-slash-general science teacher is a mad scientist and brings in her latest "experiments" to test on the students. The gym teacher is a she-male who almost runs by the _Mean Girls_ book when it comes to health classes. "You will get Chlamydia and die", end-quote. The literary arts teacher is the most normal one there: she's a vegan hippy with a thing for hardcore drug use and radical liberalism.

And there is no such thing as unbiased opinion there. The jocks scare/sex the teachers into getting good grades, the nerds earn their grades, and everyone else fails because they aren't "good enough".

So please, reiterate that "books should not be judged by their covers" line; because this book's contents seem to be as nasty as the outside.

So, in short: Hell is for Berk High School.

**BE UNIQUE ****— DON'T LET OTHERS GET YOU DOWN**

Okay…maybe I was exaggerating. However, I will point out that every teenager has gone through high school, and each and every one believes that their school is the portal to the fourth dimension. Most of them are just as wrong as I am, and just as bored.

I should have the advantage here! My dad designs MMOs for a living, I have an IQ above average and I have stellar grades, yet I cannot find a single thing to do for the last five minutes before the bell rings to dismiss us for fifth period. My life sucks ass and I am powerless to stop it from devouring that sweet nougat-y center being evicted from failure's bung-hole—and yes, ladies and gentlemen, I just went with the scat joke. Thankfully, Fishlegs takes this moment to text me, interrupting my wallowing with awkward vibrations a tad too close to my Johnny-boy.

"**hey hiccup**

**you up for some mad gaming tonight?**

**or are you going to wallow in self pity again, eating marshmallow peeps and listening to deadly nadder croon your favorite love songs as you whack off to a mental image of her undressing**

**and just as she gets in close, some of the marshmallow fluff gets all sticky, preventing further guilty pleasures**

**and you have to go wash it off but when you finish, the moments gone."**

_That ass-hat_

"**No, I figured I'd whack off to the image of you getting it up the ass with Horrorcow**

**Your fingers twining in his hair**

**His breath coming in pants**

**He calls your name**

'**Fishlegs' he groans**

**And then you **

**Jizz **

**In**

**Your **

**Pants**

**Because that will never happen.**

**Horrorcow is as tight as an alligator's jaw**

**Never gonna put out**

**EVER"**

My phone buzzes again and I grin, here comes the shitstorm…

"**you bastard!**

**i wanted that so bad!**

**how DARE you write me/horrorcow porn via text!"**

"**Then don't be a jerk." **I stop and think for a minute and then shoot Fishlegs one last text before the bell rings: **"And yes, I will be gaming tonight. Same server as always."**

Fifth was Phys-Ed and, despite what I said about the school facilities, we have a pretty sweet gymnasium. Top-of-the-line equipment, pristine floors, and an excellent coach; anything an active teenager could ever want. It's the students that are the problem.

Almost one-hundred-percent of the bullying done in Berk High School occurred in the locker rooms of the gymnasium. Teenage girls went home crying on a daily basis, nerds got swirlies and wedgies and rat-tailed into a world of pain and stinging welts, and the smaller, weaker kids were laughed at for their inadequacies. The locker rooms are a swirling torrent of pain and suffering and that is why I am deeply grateful I have fifth period Phys-Ed; I get to go home after that particularly harrowing daily experience.

Today we had a rousing game of dodgeball and I was covered head to ass in slowly-darkening bruises. I was the target for the day, on and off the court, and so I was glad when the day was over. As per the norm, I had waited until everyone was gone before I entered the showers to soak and change into my street clothes. I pulled the curtain closed behind me and stepped into the stream of steaming hot water and sighed; thank God I live a short walk away from school, that way I can take my own sweet time and not miss my dad yelling about how Big-Boobied-Bertha's breast physics are messed up again. It _is_ one of the most amusing parts of my day.

As I scrubbed my hair free of any hormone-induced oil, I began to sing one of my favorite Jörmungadr songs—_Odin's Wisdom_. "_I traded my eye for all the things I cannot see. My ravens cry for blood as I am chained to this tree. What I gave for knowledge will haunt me. What I got was more than enough to taunt me. My wisdom was ill-gotten. My suff'ring will never be forgotten. I learned the truth of ev'rything that breathes and lives on Miðgard. I worked so hard and earned this wisdom._"

Suddenly I heard a peal of soft laughter and someone hiss "No, shh…shut up! He's gonna hear us!"

_Fuck it all…dammit…not them __**again**__! Haven't I suffered enough already? _From the sounds of their snickering, probably not. "You guys are dickheads! Do you really want me to tell your slut-ass girlfriend that you've been spying on me in the showers because you have a big homo-crush on me?"

From outside the translucent shower curtain, I saw someone straighten up and step away, "Yeah, right! Like I'd want to see your skinny ass you under-endowed faggot!" The bully began to walk off only to turn around and laugh, "And for your information, she is _not_ a slut! …skinny-dick cum-sucker…"

_That's going on the internet I assume…_The only reason the posse of bullies would even be caught _dead_ watching some other guy in the shower is if they were filming it and going to put it on YouTube. So I suppose there goes the last living part of my high school credentials. Like I had much living cred to begin with. _Whatever…_ I got out of the shower and put on my clothes, relieved that my underwear was still there—the last incident with the posse resulted in my underwear hanging from the flagpole, which was immature but effective. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack and started my pilgrimage home. About half of the way there, my phone went off with the familiar ringtone indicating Fishlegs. "_So JK JK JK LOLOLOL; I heart your fucking makeup. Oh my God I love your hair. Is that a new tattoo? Did your piercing fucking hurt? So JK JK JK LOLOLOL."_

"Hello."

"_Oh-em-gee, Hiccup, you will not believe this!"_

"What?" I will admit, as much as I like my bisexual buddy, he is a notorious gossip-whore, so anytime he calls me and it starts out with "oh-em-gee" I know it's gotta be someone's dirty secret coming out into the realm of teenage gossip.

"_So Horrorcow and I were sitting around, making out and stuff, when he gets a call from his ex and **guess what**!"_

"What?"

"_Noooooooo, you have to guess!"_

I sighed, _dammit Fishlegs, this is so not the time for this! _"The bitch gave him HIV?"

Fishlegs shrieked in disapproval, _"No! Turns out, at one point he knocked her up and she had the baby!"_ _Oh holy Hell… "So her dad is instigating a shotgun wedding! Either Horrorcow marries the chick and takes care of her and her baby or he pops a cap in his ass!"_

"And you sound _so_ upset about this…"

"_I am! I'm so mad! Nothing can express the amount of madness I'm feeling! It's just…,"_ there's a long pause followed by a sigh.

"It's just _what_?" Even though he couldn't see me, I had one eyebrow arched in what Fishlegs liked to call the "what-the-fuck-are-you-trying-to-say" eyebrow thing.

"_I…I don't know,_" his voice fell from its usual chipper falsetto and he sighed again, this time through his nose. Then he sniffled a little, "_My relationship with Horrorcow has gotten stagnant and you were right, he __**won't**__ put out and I guess I'm just sexually frustrated or something because —and I swear to Loki hierself that I will smack the ever-loving __**shit**__ out of you if you tell __**anyone**__ about this—but I've been thinking about other guys and girls when I masturbate because I can never picture him naked and when I do…it's just disappointing_."

_**Too. Much. Information.**__ Shut the __**hell**__ up Fishlegs!_ I tried to sound as concerned as I could without letting on to how squicked out I really was, "Well who _have_ you…masturbated to…?" _Dear God, please tell me I did not just ask my friend that…we're supposed to tell each other everything but that's a bit __**too**__ much_. Then it hit me;_ please don't say me, __**please**__ don't say me, __**please don't say me**__!_

"_We-ell…_," Fishlegs sucked his teeth for a second, making a small "_**tch**_" sound, "_Billy James, Andrea Sarkasion, Peter Jameson, Jacqi Terrance, Lyron Tyler, Donovan Dirk, David Dirk, the Stryker triplets…all at the same time—"_

_Shut up, shut __**up**__, __**shut up!**_ _I didn't need to know that Fishlegs…thankfully I have a large supply of Brain-Bleach at home._ There was nothing in this world scarier than walking in on your dad whacking away to your supposedly "hidden" porn tapes. Except this, apparently.

Fishlegs was still talking, even after listing the first ten people. The boy had some serious unresolved sexual tension. If I wasn't a bigger virgin than him, I would have just hooked him up with a hooker and told him to make sure the condom made her feel good; but I've never even _seen_ a vagina, let alone fingered one like Fishlegs. And don't even get me started on Fishleg's supposed "abso-fucking-lutely a_ma_zing" oral skills. Both male and female recipients say that nine times out of ten, they come first when he's on the giving end. How he got those skills are none of my business and I liked to leave it that way since Fishlegs is a bit touchy about his home life. _Everyone else's home life _is free game apparently, but his is so off-limits that if you even think about it, warning bells go off and you get arrested by the mind-your-own-damn-business police.

"—_Nichole Euring, Chriss Allen, Sam Drake, Lacie-Lynn Smith, Seren Amp,"_ and he was still going…how the hell does he do that?

"Fishlegs, look, I'd love to hear about who you masturbated to—and it sounds like you've done it to just about every person in Berk—but we need to work on your issue with Horrorcow. If he's going to marry that bitch, what are _you _going to do?"

Fishlegs stopped and sobbed slightly. _And here come the waterworks…_ "_Probably __**diiiieeee!**_"

_Shit, shit, __**shit**__!_ "Look, just calm down and log on. I'll be home in a minute and I'll help you there while we slaughter some Erlking-spawn. Sound good?" Over the line I could hear Fishlegs' wailing increase. _Dammit!_

He hiccupped a couple of times and then snorked a huge goober back in his nose with a wet noise that made me gag. "_B-but I…_"

"_**Darren Elton Ingerman**__! You shut your God-fucking-damn whining __**this instant**_!" Faint in the background echoed the raucous shrieks of the elusive and much-hated beast known as "that fat cunt" or "Mrs. Ingerman". "_Because if you don't__**, so help me God**__, I will come up there and __**show**__ you how to be quiet again __**and we don't want that do we**__?"_

"_**No ma'am…,"**_ Fishlegs shouted loudly back at the twatzilla he called a maternal figure, "_Sorry Hiccup, gotta' go. Talk to you on the 'net, alright? XOXO hon_!" Then the line went dead.

"Bye 'Legs," I finished lamely. Then, slipping my phone in my pocket, I dashed towards home because there's only one thing worse than Fishlegs when he's depressed, and that's Fishlegs when he's depressed and his mother is home. I had bandaged one-too-many scars to be poking that bear again. Nope, not this time. So many fucks would be given that they would have to declare it "fuck-hunting season" just to keep the population of wild fucks at a reasonable level.

Shit was just about to go down and I was gonna be there when it hit the fan and sprayed all over every inch of this small town. Every. Last. Inch.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: Hello once again and thank you to all who reviewed! Below lies the latest chapter for "Defying the Norm" and I hope you will all enjoy it. Before I start, however, I would like to give you a heads-up. I am female in all my physical glory and, as such, I know nothing of the male anatomy past my High School health class and the yaoi I like to read here on FFN. Therefore, in any and all sex scenes that will be featured here, expect them to be no better than your average porno written by a teenager. Do not expect "Fifty Shades of Grey" nor should you expect a trollfic yaoi knockoff like most of the yaoi in the Homestuck fandom. (And please ignore the fact that I just used "Fifty Shades of Grey" as a positive porn example) Now...enjoy the show. :3)**

**HELLO AGAIN  
**

"Fuck me up the ass with a stick so sharp I shit my lungs out of my new rectum."

"_That was descriptive._"

"Fuck you. Your Beserk is doing just damn fine."

"_It's not my fault! Your Dragonkin just has shitty health!_"

"It is your fault." I killed the Kobold next to my Dragonkin warrior and quickly used its blood as a healing balm. In the background, Fishlegs's Beserk was beheading Kobold and Gnome alike with one single swipe of his double-headed axe.

"_How_?!" I winced and adjusted my headpiece with one hand, killing more Kobold as they showed up.

"You were distracting me while I was trying to pull off 'Blazinge Fyre' by talking about Andrew Hunter!"

"_Well_," Fishlegs chopped a Gnome in half—hotdog style, not hamburger—and squeaked as he collected the loot, "_A Lich-stone! Finally! I thought I'd never get one! Anyway," _he continued, tangent forgotten,_ "He totally came up to me and called me a genderfluid cock-sucker! What was I supposed to do?!"_

"Not tell him you yiffed his furfag girlfriend-slash-cumslut. Try that for a change." I stabbed a Kobold and bathed in its blood again, regaining health. "You'll live longer."

"_Hey! For your information,_" another five Kobold and Gnomes down, "_I didn't say I yiffed his furfag cumslut-girlfriend, I said I saw his cumslut-girlfriend yiffing an old dude in a bear suit."_

"Pedobear? Really?" Sometimes Fishlegs has the worst imagination ever.

_"I never said I was creative, just caustic._"

"And a gossip-whore," I amended. I could feel his shriek of disapproval.

"_You bastard! I am not a gossip-whore!"_

"Are too."

"_Am not!_"

"Are too~!"

"_Am-fucking-not!_

"Are-assfucking-too."

"_Fuck you!_" I heard something clatter on his side of the line and froze.

"What was that?" My Dragonkin staggered as he took hit after hit from the massive Gnoman that had formed before us. "Why aren't you helping me?"

"_Because gossip-whores don't help assholes, they suck them dry of their information and then leave them to wallow in their self-pity._" Hoo-boy! He was pissed! Mayday! Mayday! Employ emergency retreat skills!

"Look, Fishlegs, I'm sorry, alright?" I was going for an Oscar wphile getting the ever-loving shit beat out of me by a giant monster made of Gnomes; major respect ladies and gentlemen! "I didn't mean gossip-whore in a bad context, just as in you like to collect bad news and hoard it like a dragon."

One big, whopper of a pause later, Fishlegs sighed, "_Nope_~!"

"What?! Why the hell not?!"

He giggled as I watched my Dragonkin's health drop lower and lower, "_Because that was a poor excuse a~nd,_" he laughed again, a sharp bark that reminded me of when I tickled him until he peed himself, "_I'll forgive you and help you when you give me some information. A 'rumour' if you will. I do have a hoard to keep up."_

_Shit fuck shit! Fuck fuck shit! Fuck shit fuck! Shit! Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth shut?_ An internal struggle ensued until my poor Dragonkin's health was in the red. "Fine! Fine...I have a book of songs I keep in my bedroom that I've written for me and Nadder to sing when we form a duo!"

"_Something I didn't know!_" Damn him, damn him to the deepest regions of hell that's reserved for ass-pirates!

"Sometimes when I am going to sleep, I have to sing a lullaby my mom used to sing when I was little. It's about a young boy, 'no bigger than a hiccough' who tamed a dragon and saved his village. It makes me feel like I'm safe 'cause she's still here. Happy?" Talking about Mom hurt. It always did.

Sympathy flooded Fishlegs's voice as he healed my PC and attacked the Gnoman, "_Yeah...look, Hiccup? I'm sorry about making you talk about your mom like that. I didn't mean for you to give me a secret about her."_

"They're the only secrets I don't tell you." I was bitter, yeah, but I had every right to be. Soon, during a bout of angry silence, the Gnoman was defeated and we gathered the EXP and loot, levelling up and skedaddling out. I logged off without saying goodbye and threw my headset against the wall, screaming loudly.

Stomping up the stairs, my dad poked his head in the doorframe, bearded face contorted in worry. "Hiccup! Wha's th' matter?"

"Nothing...," I grunted.

My bed creaked as he sat down on it, "I's somethin', ah can tell."

"I said it's nothing! Now leave me the fuck alone!" Rage flooded my chest, causing my heart to ache; why the hell couldn't he just drop it? I didn't want to talk to him, or anyone for that matter! "God, Dad, why don't you get it?! I want to be left alone! Not asked how I'm doing, or how my day was, but to be left the ever-loving fuck alone!" He recoiled, hurt flitting across his features, his body slumping under the weight of my words, and stood up.

"Okay son...Ah'll leave ya' alone...jus' wanted ta' make sure ya' were fine an' not hurtin'."

"Dad, no, wait!" I went to grab him but he had already closed my door. Instead, I slammed my head into the wall, tears forming in my eyes. "Dammit! Why am I such a cock-up?!" I slid down the wall to sit on my carpeted floor, "Why am I such a cock-up?...everything I touch turns to shit..."

**DO NOT DESPAIR IN YOUR SINGULARITY  
**

I woke up to a loud ringtone, "JK _JK JK LOLOLOL. I heart your fucking makeup, oh my God I love your hair! Is that a new tattoo? Did that piercing fucking hurt? So JK JK JK LOLOLOL_!"

"What?" I croaked as I smushed the phone against my face.

"_Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third, how dare you not tell me something like this! I am, quite frankly, rather astounded that you did not notify me first! Usually I get told all the cool things about your life_..." Fishlegs was chipper as usual at...five in the morning.

I groaned, "Fishlegssssss, it's five a.m...why are you doing this to meeee? I forgive you, alright?"

He shrieked and I nearly threw the phone halfway across the room, "_You mean you don't know?!_"

"Don't know what?" _Oh, mighty gossip-whore, lend me your amazing knowledge!_

"_There's a video on YouTube called 'nerdy fag singing norse rock bullshit in the shower' and it got a ton of comments! You should see it! It features yo~u!_" Fishlegs sang out, as if that would get me to change my mind.

It did. "Fine, but I have to get off the phone first. Call you back later 'Legs!" I hung up before he could say anything else and trudged over to my computer. "Le'see...username: hiccough...password: legs-is-my-bitch...Google Chrome...YouTube...search: 'fag singing Norse rock'...three thousand results...narrow down results to posted this week and...here it is. 'nerdy fag singing norse rock bullshit in the shower'. One million plus reviews?!" Absolutely shocked by the outcome, I clicked the 'play' button and watched the poor-quality video of me singing run. Then I surfed the comments. A good majority of them said things like "_This kid has a nice voice!_" or _"wow! wuta faggut!1!1"_. Then I got to a comment that stopped my heart dead in my chest.

"_Whoever this is obviously has an excellent grasp on the finer points of music. I would like to meet with this 'nerdy fag' as soon as possible. Anyone who has information on his whereabouts, please send me a private message._" It was by someone under the username "Renson-Fang".

Renson-Fang?

Renson...Fang...

Fang...Renson...

Fang Renson?

Could it be the Fang Renson? Manager of Jörmungadr, father of Night Fury, man in charge of all things Nadder-related? If so, that was so cool! Fang Renson thought I was a good singer! But...no one would bother telling him. Who would let some stranger know about a kid he saw on the 'net?

I typed up a quick message and sent it to Fishlegs, "Saw it. Saw the comment. To depressed to verbally talk."

My text-message tone went off, "_Nngh-message for you sir..._"

"_why_?"

"No one's gonna tell him who I am! He'll never know it was me!"

"_so? dont be depressed bout that! its lame!"_

"Look. I'm going back to bed."

"_what if i told you i knew someone had told him_?"

"Did you?"

"_maybe._.."

"Goodnight 'Legs."

_"night darling!"_

I slapped my phone back into the charger and rolled into bed. My life. Was officially. Fucked up. Beyond reason. The end. Sigh.

Hopefully tomorrow was going to be better.

(Here's a spoiler: it wasn't really too much better.)

**BEAR WITH IT, IT WILL CHANGE SOON**

I was watching the TV as the sun rose and stopped to look over at the person next to me. Night Fury smiled and waved at me, emerald eyes squinting into crescents as his high cheekbones pushed up. His hair was a glossy black that cascaded over his ears and around his face, framing it perfectly. He laughed at something on the program we were watching and then turned to me, "So, aren't you glad Father found you? You seem to fit in well."

I blushed for some reason and looked down, "It's not like I would have done anything productive with my life anyway...so I guess so."

Night Fury cackled, head thrown back in a full blown laugh, and replied, "Turning into a tsundere Hiccup?" His eyes crossed and he said in a poor mockery of my voice, "'B-baka...it's not like I like you or anything sempai...so here are these flowers...cause they smell...like you!'" He cackled again, an unattractive sound and yet my blush intensified.

"Sh-shut up!" I wanted to curse and scream and yell but all I did was fold in on myself, scrunching into a ball and tucking my chin into my chest.

"Bawww, did he hurt your feelings Hiccup?" Both of Hideous Zippleback walked in, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, grinning like complete douchebags.

"Poor baby, can't even handle a simple teasing," one half said.

"I can make a man out of you," the other half murmured throatily, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows to emphasise the innuendo.

"Back off you harpies! If anyone is going to make a man out of Hiccup, it's going to be me!" Deadly Nadder shoved the twins out of the way and sat down next to me, glaring at Night Fury. "Hiccup baby," she crooned, "Why don't you just sit back and get comfortable?"

I shrieked and scrambled away, every inch of my hormonal teenage body repulsed by the idea of even having her touch me in private places. Why? Wasn't having her love me my dream? So why did I hate the thought of her touching me so much? And why did being around Night Fury make me feel so much better? Could it be...?

Night Fury smiled predatorily at Deadly Nadder and Hideous Zippleback and said plainly, "If you so much as touch him, I will shank you in the back with a shiv so quick, you won't even be able to bleed to death." Then he draped his arm over my shoulder and brushed his soft, slender fingers against my cheek slowly, tracing circles with the pads of his index finger. My body arose to the occasion and suddenly I found myself naked in bed with Night Fury, his slender, nude form above me, poised for entry and ready for action. "Bite down Hiccup, I'm going in dry."

I moaned and bucked as he entered my ass, pleasure and pain mixing and intertwining to become ecstasy and bliss. I bled and I came, screaming his name as he emptied into me. Then he pulled out and licked my stomach, tongue probing my navel and lingering at my hipbones.

He bit down, none-too-gently and smiled at what was blossoming into a dark bruise. "Mine," he purred. "Now," sighing, he rolled over and wrapped his muscular legs around my waist, "Your turn."

I stared, a rational part of my mind screaming at me to stop there but the more powerful voice was lust. I positioned myself at his mouth and said, "Suck." He grinned at me and engulfed me to the base of my shaft, sucking and pulling until precum glistened at my head and I was thoroughly lubricated. "Now," I growled in his ear, "what is it you wanted?"

"Fuck me." His voice was quavery, ridden with longing and broken with pants.

"With pleasure." I entered him and bucked, feeling his rectal muscles clench hard around my member, drawing at the sensitive skin and sending shivers up my spine. We rocked, bodies clashing, names moaned and pants causing the air around us to heat. When I was done, I sucked him off, teeth scraping at his member and swallowing when he was done as well. Then we lay in bed together, spooning for all we were worth.

"I love you Hiccup." Night Fury sighed in contentment.

"I—"

Woke up, face covered in sweat and morning wood present and accounted for. Well, this was new. Not the whole "wet-dream" thing; the "gay sex with Night Fury" thing. But, I suppose I could always pass it off as Fishlegs's bad influence. First things first, however. I needed to get my little soldier at ease. Then I would kill Fishlegs.

Time for some Kleenex and a laytex glove.


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N: Sorry about the massive wait, I'll try and update as fast as possible but, with as much as I have on my plate as it is, it may be a while between chapters. Anyway, I wanna thank y'all for hanging on and waiting for me to write, it means a whole shitton to me. If you haven't noticed yet: I'm rewriting "A Dragon and His Not-Viking". The name of it is now "The Truth About Shadows" and it's a little more my current style than ADaHNV was (i.e. loquacious and descriptive on top of more of an extensive universe created for me). I want to thank all of you for voting for my HtTYD fics on my poll, that's what made me continue this instead of focusing on my newer fanfictions. So, enjoy Hiccup beating on Fishlegs for his gay wet dream!)**

I smacked Fishlegs upside the head repeatedly. "You gay asshole!" Each syllable was accented with sequentially harder Gibbs-slaps.

He cackled, "I can't...believe it! You had a...wet dream...about Night Fury of all people!"

I slapped a hand across his mouth, "Shut up! Do you want everyone to know?!" His tongue dragged across my fingers, slicking them up enough for me to let go and wipe them on his shirt. "Gross..."

"So—" Fishlegs crooned as he leaned close to me in the commons area, "—what was it like?"

"Like a normal, heterosexual wet dream, but with a guy. You know: penis, meet ass. Ass, enjoy penis's company because you're gonna regret it later. 'Unf, you're so hard!' Blah, blah, blah..." I gesticulated as I spoke, hands lazily waving about and air-quoting. Fishlegs' smile widened as he heard this.

"You enjoyed it!"

"No I didn't! That, sir, is an egregious falsehood!" My rebuttal caused several of the 'losers-slash-nobodies' that occupied this quarter of the commons to stare at me with intense dislike and—in the case of the scene kids—angsty glowering. Fishlegs just tittered and clutched his copy of Cosmo to his chest.

"Don't lie to me~e! You loved it!" I smacked him one more time, just as the bell rang. Upon hearing the bland tone, Fishlegs dashed off towards his first period—halfway across the building—and I sauntered off towards my math class on the bottom floor.

Closer, yes, but far less enjoyable than Fishlegs' drama class. Whiny-ass lucky bitch.

**FORGET THE STATUS QUO—BE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF**

A boring Algebra II class coupled with the devastating double böring reach-around of US History and Law classes form a multi-dimensional black hole of dull in my day. Seriously, watching grass grow would've been more provocative and productive than listening to Morris "Mildew" McAllistaire drone on and on about tort laws in the modern age. Thankfully my freedom came in the form of 3D Art and Animation with Fishlegs.

It may have seemed as though I finally had a reprieve; however, tragedy struck before so much as one little sphere could be properly rendered.

I had just planted my ass in one of the painfully hard plastic school chairs—which exist sheerly to pulverise student's tailbones—when the intercom beeped on. "I need Darryl Ingerson and Jonathan Haddock to the principal's office immediately."

Shit.

Hoisting my book-bag over my shoulder and heaving myself out of the plastic ass-elevator, I trudged to the door of my animation class. The jeers and catcalls of my so-called 'young adult' classmates followed me and Fishlegs as we closed the door behind us.

The hallway had never seemed so ominous before.

"Why do you look so happy? Do you have any idea what my dad's gonna do to me when he finds out that I had to go to the office today?!" Fishlegs' wide grin was pissing me off. Seriously, how the Hell was he not as tweaked as I was?!

Fishlegs simply shrugged and smiled wider, "I think you'll be fine."

"Fine?" Hysterical, I wasn't hysterical! Concerned, yes, bud definitely not hysterical. "You know how your mom—" I refused to call Mrs. Ingerman 'that fat cunt' in school, mainly because of chatty teachers " —gets when you even get a B! You, of all people, should be terrified!"

"I think," he emphasised, "we'll be fine."

Still not convinced, I trudged into the office, where Thuggory MacHine was sitting angrily in the—dubbed by the masses—'Chair of Shame' in front of Principal O'Hare's private office area. He glowered at me and I just waved cheekily.

"Smash Sydney's calculator against his skull again, Thuggory?" Fishlegs singsonged. Thuggory glared harder and we knocked on the door to O'Hare's office.

"Is that you, Jonathan?" Internally groaning, I sighed deeply and responded in the positive. "Good then, come in! You and Darryl!"

We crossed the Point of No Return, stepping into the Outcast Lands. Sitting at his desk, facing us and blocking the sunlight coming from the singular window, was principal Alvin O'Hare. His hooked nose, bald head, thin frame, and beady eyes often left the students with the impression that they were sitting across from a ravenous weasel. And that the weasel was plotting their imminent doom.

Across from him, in a high-backed, plush, rolling, office chair—the kind that often led to memories of childhood folly—was a short and serious Asian man.

He looked way too familiar for this to be a coincidence.

"Now," his snake-oil-salesman voice was turned up to eleven...something was definitely up, "Jonathan, normally we don't allow strangers to check students out of school without prior permission from the child's legal guardian or parents—" lies and slander "—but we figured that, with Mr. Renson here, we could afford to make an exception."

Hold the phone. Renson? Fang Renson?

Cue the internal fangirl squealing.

Fishlegs' grin was wide and finally keyed me in to what was going on. "You douche!" Not one remark was made about my language, surprisingly. "I can't believe you kept this from me! How did you—?!"

"Even a gossip-whore may hoard a secret or two," he tried to sound sage and Jedi-like, and was completely perfect. Completely. Fucking. Perfect.

"I love you. No homo."

"I love you too. Homo totally intended." Oh you...

O'Hare cleared his throat, "A-hem! Boys. Now is not the time."

Believe it or not, the entire time throughout our little "no-homo-yes-homo" sappy, queer, brofest, Fang-motherfucking-Renson sat there—chill as the chillest of cucumbers—smiling slightly. When Principal O'Hare finished his throat-clearing, Fang began, his voice a mere rumble of thunder in the distance.

"I spoke to your friend online—Darryl, was it?" Fishlegs nodded eagerly, much to O'Hare's chagrin, "He told me you're quite the Jörmungadr fan."

"Um...yeah, I am...I'm a huge fan!" My attempts to quash my overenthusiastic fanboying failed miserably.

Fang seemed mildly amused to O'Hare's put-off air, "Indeed. Well, as he may have informed you, I enjoyed your performance on YouTube. You have the quality and control to be great." Oh God, oh God, oh God! "I came here today because I have a question for you. Unfortunately, due to circumstance and prying ears—" the comment he made was directed at O'Hare, who reddened and sat back in his chair, "—I have requested to check you out to further discuss this with you. I hope it's okay with you that I do this, Jonathan."

"Hiccup," I manage to squeak out, "Just call me Hiccup. Everyone does."

"Hiccup then," Fang's tone and his face remained impassive, but I was still fangirling internally. I nodded in response to his request, then realised something.

"Uh...Mr. Fang?"

"Call me Fang; if I am to call you Hiccup, you must be equally informal with me. It's only right."

"...Fang," my mouth was dry, why was my mouth dry? "I'll go on one condition."

One of his perfectly man-scaped eyebrows arched in surprise—at least I hope it was surprise, "Yes?"

"Fishlegs goes with me." At his confused expression, I gestured to Fishlegs and prompted, "Darryl?"

"Ah, of course." Wait, did he just agree to my terms? "He is my informant so I did have plans to bring him along."

"Wait just a second," Principal O'Hare interrupted, "you can't check Jonathan and Darryl out at the same time! They'd be—"

"You'll find, Alvin, that I can do as I please." Fang glared daggers of ice at O'Hare, causing the principal to shudder and back off immediately. "Now, we will take our leave. Do you have your personal items?" We both nodded eagerly, bookbags slung over our shoulders and phones stuffed in our pockets. He smiled and stood up, considerably shorter than what I thought he'd be, but still imposing, "Then we shall take our leave of this place. Farewell, Alvin."

Fishlegs flipped O'Hare a jaunty salute as he left; I, on the other hand, simply smiled and signed "dirty little shit" at him (ASL, thank you dad!). He was none the wiser, thankfully, and we exited the building like kings.

Outside sat a stretch limo, obsidian and silver, just waiting for us to get in it. "Hoo-boy!" Fishlegs whistled appreciatively, "that is a limousine."

"Indeed," Fang acknowledged, "now I have a question for you: is there a place where you two hang out?"

I smiled, "There's the Kill Ring downtown." When I noticed the confused look that suddenly appeared on his face, I explained, "It's a gaming shop. They sell all sorts of Dungeons & Dragons-style games, card games, and game accessories. My dad's friend owns the place, he's pretty chill."

"The Kill Ring it is. Chauffeur! The Kill Ring is our destination."

"Searching for it now, sir," the chauffeur replied, probably looking the Kill Ring up on a GPS of one sort or another. When—I believe—he found it, we pulled out of the school zone and started down main street.

"So...," Fishlegs still had that grin on his face, the insane 'I know something you don't know' one.

"So?" I prompted, hoping to get an actual answer.

"So, your question for him?" Fishlegs finished.

"Ah, yes," Fang straightened his collar and settled back in his seat, "my question. It pertains to your talent that I saw on YouTube."

Oh no. Oh no way. No fucking way! Dad's gonna flip! He is going to flip his fucking shit!

"Would you join Jörmungadr as the backup male singer? While my son can reach high notes by using falsetto, it doesn't compare to the strong, natural tones of a countertenor." Flabbergasted; I was purely agape at the idea that someone wanted me to sing for their band, let alone that the manager of Jörmungadr wanted me to sing backup for his band.

Jörmungadr wanted me to sing with them! If mom was here...

Fishlegs must've noticed my sad face, because he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and nuzzled me affectionately.

"So your answer?" Fang prompted.

"I'll—I—I have to think about it," I replied, my hesitance causing my voice to quaver slightly.

Fang nodded, sympathy oozing from his tone, "I understand; it would be hard to switch from anonymous living to the life of a rockstar. It was hard for Toothless as well."

Toothless? Is he talking about Night Fury?

"Yeah...I'm not too sure my dad'll be as thrilled as I am when I tell him." Truth; dad would actually be kinda bummed that I was leaving like mom. Okay, understatement, he would be full-on depressed that I was leaving like mom.

"Understandably. We all want what's best for our children, but sometimes it is hard to let go enough to give it to them." Oh wise and mighty Fang, teach my father your wisdom and patience!

The rest of the ride to the Kill Ring—all five minutes of it—was spent in awkward silence.

**NEVER FEAR CHANGE—INTEGRATE IT INTO YOUR VERY BEING**

Gobber's eyebrow arched as he smirked, "An' yer nae sure tha' Stoic'll take th' news well, correct?"

"Aye," I mocked his brogue with surprising accuracy for the massive amount of irony it was smothered in. "Ah'm nae sure da'll take this new well t'all."

"Dun't be cheeky, lad, or ah'll have yer arse on a platter by th' end a th' week." Gobber replied with equally snarky piss and vinegar. "So, Jolt an' some new Dragon cards fer ya an' 'Legs?"

Fishlegs gave an excited squeal, "Hell-to-the-yeah! I can't wait to try out my new deck combinations!" He accepted the soda and cards with gusto—shelling out his weekly allowance—and skipped over to our regular table. He then ripped the booster packs open with voracity, throwing bits of plastic and foil all over the place.

"Merlin's Throne?" I met Gobber's eyes and he winked.

"Merlin's Throne. So," he leaned back against the display wall and stretched languidly, "who's yer frien'? He's pretty good lookin', fer a shor' man."

"Fang Renson," Gobber's eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Oh, tha' is th' infamous Fang? Jörmungadr's Fang?" With an affirmative nod from me, he chortled, "aye! Seems like th' kinda' man who'd run a company like tha'!"

"Shh," I hissed, covering his mouth with my hands, "don't offend him."

"Ah highly doubt tha' he'd be offended," Gobber shrugged and handed over my booster packs, "bu' if ya say nae ta offend him, ah'll try mah best."

Fang strolled—although he seemed rather lost—over to the counter and smiled handsomely at Gobber, "This is your family friend then?"

"Gobber Godfrey, at yer service!" Gobber swept a low bow, mock reverence dripping from his every movement.

"Fang Renson; pleasure to meet you." Fang held out his hand politely. At that point I'd decided that one of two things about Fang Renson were true: either he was extremely polite, or he was the master of ironic façades.

Gobber gently took Fang's hand in one of his meaty paws and shook it gently, "Pleasure's all mine."

Euch.

Not that I'm against gays or anything, but this was my "uncle" and the man who fathered Night Fury. That is a level of creepy no one should suffer.

"So you know young Hiccup how, exactly?" Gobber's face broke out in a full-out, 'embarrassing childhood stories' grin.

"Ah've been a frien' since he was a wee babby," Gobber began, "Knew his mum long before she me' with his da. Been part a th' family e'r since."

Thank God above for short, non-embarrassing versions of personal events; and even more thanks for "uncle"s who know when to shut their gob.

I gratefully forked over my cash for some Jolt and my boosters and gave Gobber a smile, "Book of Shadows and Ancestry Calls, right?"

"Ya think mah ken of yer deck is lackin'? Ya insult me."

"Woah there Gobber; no need to go postal on me." I grinned back at him and then held out my hand. I was rewarded with a high-five and a smarting palm. "Eesh," I grumbled, "should know better than to do that..." Reward in hand, I sat down to shuffle through my spoils. From the looks of things, Fishlegs had already found some good cards, and was shuffling through his deck to integrate and swap them around.

"After you're done, you wanna go?" Fishlegs leered as he lazily shuffled his deck.

"You got your coin, D-20, and tokens to play for?" I asked, looking through the Trees I had gotten with a manic glee.

"Are you prepared to lose?" Fishlegs countered.

"Is it a blue moon already?" Mock surprise laced my voice, "and here I thought I had a fighting chance."

"Har, har, har," he drawled, "very fucking funny."

"Oy!" Gobber interrupted, temporarily placing his conversation with Fang on hold, "Watch yer fookin' mouth!"

"Make me!"

"Ah will then!" Gobber stomped over and Fishlegs 'eep'ed, scrambling to get away from the giant.

I lazily finished shuffling my deck and called out to him, "Ready when you are!"

"Call off your guard dog," he squealed in response.

"Gobber—!" He looked back at me and bared his teeth in a grimace-like smile, "Leave Fishlegs alone. I need him in one piece for when I kick his ass."

"All righ' then," he sighed in defeat and put Fishlegs down, "If ya say so." Trudging back to the counter, he continued his talk with Fang.

Fishlegs sat down, "Ready?"

"Ready," I affirmed.

**YOU ARE NOT ALONE—THERE ARE OTHERS LIKE YOU**

Fang was sitting down while watching our game, his eyes trained on our attack lines. Fishlegs had three Gronkles (one normal, two Drekkan) and enough Yew and Ash Trees to summon three more if he wanted. I, on the other hand, had Birch and Ash Trees in my Forest, a Monstrous Nightmare, and a Drekkan Hideous Zippleback.

The whole concept seemed novel to him. "A card game based on the dragons mythos?!"

I Planted a Yew Tree and flipped it, allowing me to Call a Cloud of Terrible Terrors. "It's a rather interesting marriage of "Magic: the Gathering" and Eric Forthen's "The Truth About Shadows" series which, coincidentally, is the birthplace of the Nordic-themed draconic lore that Jörmungadr uses for member names. Monstrous Nightmare—" I attacked with mine, which Fishlegs blocked with his normal Gronkle, sacrificing it in the process, "—Deadly Nadder, Hideous Zippleback—" again I attacked and was beaten back by one if Fishlegs' Drekkan, "and Night Fury," I groaned as Fishlegs Called one. Little did he know that I had "the Home of Our Ancestors" up my sleeve.

"That is interesting. Simultaneously, it is also rather extensive for a card game," Fang mused aloud.

Gobber chuckled, interrupting his stocking to look over Fishlegs' shoulder, "Aye, Dragons a Legends 'tis extensive. But, 'tis also fer th' nerds a th' world. Nerds like their games complicated. Oh, and Hiccup? Yer screwed."

I drew and almost cried. I had it! I had it! "A-ha! I have you now!" I Planted Yddragsil and watched his face fall.

"Oh no...no, no, no...no fu—no way!" He changed track halfway through his swear when Gobber gave him a Look.

"Yes way. I Call unto this field, through sacrifice and blood, the Home of Our Ancestors!" I tapped Yddragsil, sacrificed all my dragons, and placed the Home of Our Ancestors in play, smirking all the while. Fishlegs shrieked.

"Oh, oh!" He seemed lost for words for a moment, then an unsettling grin crept across his face, and he sat back in his chair with a disturbing air of ease about him. "Whatever shall I do? It looks like the coup d'état must come a bit earlier than planned," he sighed dramatically, "I had so hoped to drag this on longer but...alas! 'Tis not to be." He drew and Planted another Yew, then drew a card from his deck. "I Call into being, the grand spell-of-spells, wrought with the love of a family: Merlin's Love!"

Aw, come on! That is not even remotely fair!

He sacrificed his Night Fury and all his Trees, and Called an Anthro Night Fury into play. He then attacked my empty Field, burning three of my Trees and taking 9 HP from me. Now I was down to 8 HP, while he had 17. I was royally screwed, unless I could pull this off.

"Any last words before the coup de grâce?" Fishlegs gloated. Fang sat in closer to me, peering over my shoulder and frowning gently. "Or," he practically purred, "are you going to forfeit like the lily-livered, little baby you are?"

"I propose a third option," I retorted, reaching into my deck with a steady hand. This entire turn depended on my luck; I could not screw this up! "Take this! Her resting period over, La Bella wakes and wreaks havoc upon your Field. Her damage is—" I rolled my D-20 and squeaked with excitement, "—twenty cards and the subsequent leftover damage to your Hit Points!" Fishlegs groaned, he only had one card on his Field, and -2 HP! "I win." I flashed him a predatory grin—all teeth and reeking of victory—and then held out my hand, "pay up."

"Nuuuuu...," Fishlegs whined, "dun't wanna..."

"Pay the loser's fee gracefully Fishlegs, or I'll have Gobber remove the cards from your grip forcefully." Gobber sneered at Fishlegs.

"Buh-but...," another glare from Gobber, and he crumbled to my pressuring, "Fine. Here."

I plucked his card box from his hands and shuffled through it. Nope, don't want another Gronkle or Nadder. Don't need any Trees, 'specially not Aspens—those are Scout/Guard Trees and I don't have any Scout/Guard dragons. Definitely don't need Merlin's Love, I have no Anthros. Maybe...

I pulled a solitary Night Fury from his deck, a Drekkan with vivid emerald eyes and a solitary spattering of freckles across its snout, and handed him back his cards.

"No," he mock-sobbed, "You took my only Drekkan Night Fury! That is not fair at all!"

"Life's not fair," I taunted, "and then you die. Death and taxes, Fishlegs."

"We're all equal when we're dead," he replied monotonously, not even cheered up by the opportunity to use a Les Misérabes quote. Then he shoved his deck back into his box and closed the lid angrily. "Wanna go home. P'rolly time for mom to blow a fuse anyway, she's usually awake by now."

"Fang," I asked him, stowing away my newly-modded deck in my box, "would you drive Fishlegs home? He can give you directions."

"And yourself," the man inquired, "how will you get home?"

"Ah'll drive th' lad home. 'Tis but a stone's throw away from here an' his da'll have plenty a time ta think about wha' he's done," Gobber interjected. At my confused look he supplied a cure for my confusion, "He tol' me he's gonna' start marketin' "Isle a Berk" soon an' that players can pay to have unique character mods or armour. Somethin' about "means ta an en'" or sommat like tha'..."

"Very well." Fang turned to face me, a slight upward turn to his lips, "I shall visit here tomorrow, after school, for an answer to my question. Would this be an acceptable meeting place?"

"Fine enough," I shrugged, "So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow then," he nodded and then turned to Fishlegs, "To your home then. Will I have the pleasure of meeting your mother?"

"If you're lucky: no." And with that, the two of them walked out of the Kill Ring, leaving me with only Gobber and my thoughts.

"So...," Gobber awkwardly rocked on his heels, turning to face me, "How're ya' gonna' break th' news ta yer da? Ya've got all afternoon ta think abou' it."

"Yeah...lucky me..." I groaned and placed my head in my hands.

"Jus' tell him th' truth. He'll unnerstand." Gobber patted me on the back—which felt more like a steamroller hitting me—and then went to attend one of the snooty regulars—a guy who called himself "Humongous Hotshot the Hero".

If only it were that simple though...


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N: The response to the last chapter was phenomenal! I'm glad you guys liked it, because it took forever to come up with Legends of Dragons. I will point out that it directly references "The Truth About Shadows" (in this universe it's a book series by Eric Forthen if you missed that tidbit) and no one seemed to comment on that. Do you not cross-read my fanfictions? Frankly I'm hurt. (Not really.)**

**Anyway, I want to thank all my followers—there are about fifty-nine of you!—and give you my blessings. My poll has closed and the results are in! The three stories I will be finishing first are this one, the Truth About Shadows, and Penitence & Patience, Glitches & Viruses. I hope you enjoy what I shell out. It's gonna be a long and bumpy road, so hold on! :)**

**TL;DR if you want. Thank you if you don't. Enjoy!)**

My ride home was anything but uneventful. While Gobber's old clunker managed to get us from the Kill Ring to home, we almost missed our exit, and I was subjected to Gobber singing—rather off-key and loudly—modern pop songs. You have never seen Hell unless you have listened to Gobber butcher "Call Me Maybe" and "Little Lion Man". Eugh...the horror...

When we finally reached our destination, Gobber turned to me and flashed a toothy grin, "Ye bet'r tell yer da Ah'm nae pleased with'm, ye unnerstan'?"

"Sure thing," I saluted back then did an about-face and marched into my home, still not ready to talk to dad. When I closed the front door, I noticed that the house was unusually quiet. Confused, I made my way downstairs to Dad's work-room, hoping I had caught him at a good time.

"Feckin' Hell!" I heard him swear as I tentatively entered his work-room, "How har' is it t'actually ge' this damned thin' workin'?!"

"Trouble with Bertha again?" My voice wasn't cracking; nope, I was totally calm here. Not terrified in the slightest!

Dad sighed and pinched his nose in exasperation. Scattered around him were piles of coding books and reference art; laying against his computer was a Fenrir figure from "Poetic Edda: Darkness Encroaching" and he had his "I am a pure-bred Viking" cap on. Overall, the room was in its normal state of organised-chaos, with Dad in the centre of it. "Yeah. Bertha's bein' unreasonable. I tol' her tha' I would keep her PC tha' way if she'd pay us as par' a Isle a Berk's newest promotional feature bu' she won' pay up. I tol' her that she dinn't haft'pay us much bu' she refuses! An' Bertha's code is still bein' unreasonable! I dinn't know how tha' came abou', bu' her boob-physics are still as insane as e'er!" He growled in frustration and threw a coding book at the wall, deepening the already-present dent there.

"Any good news?" I prompted him, smiling slightly. If he was in a better mood, he might take the news better.

"Well Merida is payin' a hefty sum ta have her mum's PC changed to Mor'du," he admitted.

"Wait, Merida's mom has an Isle character?!" I had no idea that Mrs. "Proper-ladies-dinnae-play-video-games" even considered Isle of Berk as anything interesting!

"Yeah. Merida said somethin' abou' her mum sayin' she would give Isle a try. I dinn't know why she's havin' me change Elinore's human Huntress int'an Ursarin', let alone an exact copy a Mor'du, bu' I did say I'd custom-mod any character for anyone payin'." He shrugged looking seemingly nonplussed about the whole idea, just eased about getting payed, I suppose.

"Does Merida know that her dad hates Ursarings with a passion?" Of course she did; she was getting back at her mom for being a "narrow-minded busybody an' an insufferable twat" (her words, not mine).

Dad merely shrugged and took a chug from his 5-Hour-laced Faygo. "She's payin' a lot."

"How much?"

"£1323.71" Holy shit. That was a lot of money. If you factored in the conversion from pounds to dollars, you wound up with about $2,000! Give-or-take a few cents; it all depends on the economy today.

Scottish "princess" or not, Merida had to be completely nuts to throw that money away like that; even if the money being tossed is for a pretty worthy cause. Elinore was a major buzzkill and would always scold Merida when she would play with me and Fishlegs in the mud. Or when she played with me and Fishlegs indoors. Or when she played with me and Fishlegs at all, really.

"Yeah, tha's wha' I said when she offered. She called me up an' said _'Uncle Stoic, I have a request a you!'_" His imitation of Merida's voice consisted mainly of him pitching his voice up a bit and slurring his words to achieve the "proper brogue" sound Merida and her family carried in their tones. "_'Could you pos'bly make my mum's character an exact copy a Mor'du?'_ I asked her how much she was willin' t'pay an' when she dropped those figures I 'bout shat myself."

"I can imagine," I agreed, nodding my head slightly. "Filthy rich or otherwise, Merida must've emptied her entire savings to pay for this."

"Th' transaction hasn't occurred ye'. I tol' her I would charge her after she saw th' end resul'." I smiled at Dad for that. Whether or not Gobber thought he was being a 'money-grubbin' arse', Dad was a great man. That's why I had to tell him now.

"Listen...Dad?" My hands entwined in my hoodie strings and I refused to make eye contact with him. Shit, I was nervous.

"Yeah son?" I could feel his gaze on me and it just made it worse. I was not looking forward to what was going to happen.

"So yesterday I was taking a shower after gym, right? And these guys—absolute neanderthals—took a video of me singing in the shower." Off to a great start already! (Not.)

Dad bristled and grabbed my shoulders, "Why dinn't you tell me this yesterday?! I could've deleted th'video an' made sure there wouldn't be 'nother copy alive?"

I shrank away from his grasp, "Because it didn't matter! They had already put it up on YouTube anyway so why bother?"

"Son...," Dad began.

"As I was saying," I continued over his protests, "it wound up on YouTube. Well apparently it went viral and a ton of people saw it. Including the manager of my favourite band."

"Tha' Norse rock band with th' hot chick you like so much?"

My cheeks heated up and I nodded, "Yeah. Well today he came and checked me 'n' Fishlegs out of school—"

"The Outcast le' him?!" Dad broke out in a toothy grin, "I'm sure th' look on his face wa' priceless!"

"If you could stop interrupting," Dad looked down like a kicked puppy but I wasn't fooled. "Anyway; Fang Renson, Jörmungadr's manager, checked us out and took us to the Kill Ring to ask me something—not that he couldn'tve asked me something at school or in his limo, but he wanted me to be comfortable so...anyway! He asked me to...sing countertenor for Jörmungadr." There it was, the big reveal. The shit had officially hit the fan! Now all that was left to to was to wait for the oncoming shitstorm.

Dad stared at the floor with his brows creased and fingertips pressed together as he sat deep in thought. The tension and worry bubbling in my gut only increased the longer I waited for an answer. Why wasn't he answering me? _What did I do? Oh God, he thinks I'm gonna' leave like Mom! Oh no! He'll say no! Or he'll say yes but be all PA about being hurt and never come to a concert! Please don't be mad! Please!_

When he finally spoke, I could hear the sadness hidden behind his voice. "Hiccup, I've raised you e'r since your ma left us an' ne'er once have you purposefully hurt me. I know you love me with all your hear' an' I know jus' askin' this had t'kill you. Takin' all that int'account, I think th' best thin' t'do is have Mr. Fang Renson come o'er an' talk t'him m'self." Wait, was that a maybe?! "If I feel like he'll take good care of you, I'll le' you go. There's no reason for me t'keep you here. It's your dream, innit?" It was a maybe!

I tackle-hugged Dad, "Thankyouthankyou_thankyou!_ Ohhh you have no idea how much this means to me! Thank you!"

He chuckled and hugged me back, "I thin' I do. You're a lo' like your mum...in a good way." When we broke the hug, he turned back to his computer and began coding again, "Now you tell tha' Fang Renson t'meet me t'morrow, understan'?"

"Will do!" I saluted him and dashed off, skipping steps by twos as I went to my bedroom to text Fishlegs. This was so exciting!

**DEPRIVE THE WORLD OF YOU AND YOU DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF HAPPINESS**

Thirty-four unanswered text messages later, Fishlegs sent me the OK-signal and I called him. "Mama Bear being a cunt again?"

_"Yep,"_ shit, Fishlegs' voice was raspy. The bitch must've had him by the throat again...

"What was she mad about this time?" God, I hated when his mom fucked him up. If his dad were still around he might be in better shape because—from what he can remember of his early childhood—his mom was actually happy when his dad was around.

_"Getting dropped off in Fang's limo. I can remember some of it being about how I was useless and stupid and would never amount to anything. The rest had something to do with 'mooching'."_ He coughed once—whether for dramatic Fishlegs purposes or genuine hoarseness I was unsure—then chipperly asked, _"So what did the ol' man hafta say about the thing?"_

I couldn't stop grinning—despite the unmitigated gall of the whole 'my best friend got the shit beat out of him by his abusive mother' situation—and, after steeling myself, said as solemnly as I could, "Well...he said that I reminded him of Mom."

Fishlegs inhaled sharply then coughed, _"Shit!"_ He knew better than anyone what being like Mom mean to me and Dad.

"And he said he was gonna' have a talk with Fang," again, I dragged out the dramatic pause until it physically hurt. "But he said maybe."

_"Yes!"_ Fishlegs whisper-screamed into the phone, causing the sound to distort from the massive amount of air being funnelled into the microphone. _"Oh, you lucky bastard you!"_

"Yeah," I bathed in his semi-whispered congratulations for a bit longer before I added, "I just 'bout shat myself waiting for his answer."

_"I can imagine. Oh!"_ There was a clatter on the other end, like Fishlegs had dropped his phone followed by a muttered apology to his clunky Nokia. _"So I was doing some research on the ride home and according to Jack, there are some things you need to know about Jörmungadr's crew."_

"Wait, Jack?" Who the Hell was Jack? Did I know him? Damn me and my unreliable memory for names and faces.

_"Yeah. White hair, blue eyes, was in marching band. Played oboe in the solo last year?"_ Fishlegs' prompting was not getting us anywhere._ "He was a senior?"_

"Was?"

_"Head of the A/V Club? He dropped out to be stage manager at the Berk Dome. He does the lights and sound so...,"_ Fishlegs trailed off in exasperation. It's not my fault that I don't remember that Jack person! _"Anyway, I was talking to him and he said—'cause he gets close to the artists and bands that play at the Dome—and he knows a bit of gossip about Jörmungadr."_

_Oh shit...here he goes again._

_"Don't you dare think that Jonathan Horrendous Haddock the Third! I heard that condescending thought!"_ Fishlegs' hoarse whisper-yell startled me for a second before I remembered he wasn't actually psychic.

"I said it aloud, didn't I?" God I hate when I do that...

_"Yeah."_ He snickered and moved on with his juicy gossip, _"So here are the deets: Monstrous Nightmare's name is Snotlout Jorgenson. Apparently he went to Berk Middle School before he was scouted for Jörmungadr. He used to be on the varsity football team and was a renowned skirt-chaser."_ He let the information process for a bit before launching into another string of gossip. _"As you know, Hideous Zippleback is composed of twins; Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston are their names. Both were born male but Ruffnut is trans* female. Both are notorious whores but Ruffnut only goes for men while Tuffnut swings both ways. As far as Jack knows, they were homeschooled by their über-conservative Baptist Christian father, and as soon as they were scouted for Jörmungadr they did everything they could to piss him off. Supposedly they can never go home."_

Huh...a hetero-trans* female and a bi-cis-male twins. Who'dve thunk?

_"I can hear you breathing but I have no idea whether or not you're awake. Earth to Hiccup! Are you there?"_ I snorted into the mic and shifted my weight so I was no longer laying on my now-numb elbow.

"Hiccup is not available at this time. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep!"

_"Ha ha, very funny. Anyway, as I was saying,"_ Never deterred, my friend Fishlegs, _"Deadly Nadder's name is Astrid Hofferson and she is the toughest bitch ever. She went to Dragon Bluffs Private Academy before Fang drafted her for her amazing singing. At Dragon Bluffs she was lead in chorus and head of the mixed martial arts club. She broke a guy's arm because he decided to get frisky and touch her ass at a public signing once and spent three days in jail. During that time, she not only was found not guilty, but she managed to discipline one of the inmates who though she'd try and have one over on the 'pretty new girl'."_ Fishlegs paused for air while I processed what he just said. I knew about Nadder having gone to jail, but I didn't know about her going to Dragon Bluffs. That school was for the obscenely rich people. Only the elite of the elite went to Dragon Bluffs! As I pondered, Fishlegs continued, _"Astrid is said to be married to her job and has rejected even the most luxurious advances from the richest of the elite. Jack speculates that she's asexual aromantic but that's just fluff. As for Night Fury...,"_ he mock-shuddered, _"there's a ton of shit on him."_

"Lay it on me 'Legs." I roll on my back and kick my legs in the air out of boredom. I love listening to Fishlegs talk and I know he loves to talk, but sometimes he can get a tad long-winded. And by a tad, I mean a shitton.

_"His name is Toothless Renson. At least, that's what everyone calls him; no one is sure of his or any of the other members' names. He is spoiled rotten and has been groomed for a music career since a young age. Supposedly the bastard child of Fang and some random chick, Toothless was picked up by his dad from some orphanage when he was four. Ever since then he's gotten anything he wanted for his birthday as compensation for the four years he had nothing." Fishlegs chuckled, "Some of the shit he's gotten for his birthday is ridiculous! For his sixth birthday he wanted a dinosaur so Fang had a friend create a fully-functioning anamatronic stegosaur with artificial intelligence. For his thirteenth birthday he wanted a jello-filled swimming pool and he got it. For his seventeenth birthday last year he wanted a virgin sacrifice and—oh Loki!"_ He bursts into a fit of hysterical stifled giggles,_ "his dad held an audition for the part and Toothless had a harem of eighteen virgins to pick from. And he—hahaha—he picked the ugly nerd dude and showed him a good time."_

Okay...that is beyond odd.

_"Dude, Toothless is nuts. Confirmed whorehound; a pansexual—he claims—and sex god—so it is said about him—he gives the best damn blowjobs ever. Oh man! One more thing to love about this guy! Forget Astrid, I'mma fuck Toothless! He sounds like a riot!"_

"Oh har har har," fucking 'Legs, "nah. I think I'll stick to Nadder thankyouverymuch."

He snorts, _"If you insist. I think you're missing out. Jack says he had a stand with him and he has never in a million years felt more gay than he did getting it up the ass. The dude is like an Asian Loki."_

_Loki...fathered Sleiphner, Fenrir, and Jormüngadr. Also liked to be a woman and seduce men. Sexual deviancy at its finest,_ I thought as I listened to Fishlegs gush about his new crush. "Look man, it's late and I'm tired. Talk to you tomorrow?"

_"Fine,"_ he huffed, _"have fun with your wet dreams boyo!"_

"If they're about getting pounded in the ass by Night Fury, I will fucking end you." That was a promise.

_"Love ya hun! Night!"_ He hung up on me. I plugged my phone in and turned off my light with a dissatisfied grunt. I swear, if I did dream about gay sex again, I was going to rip 'Legs a new one. No lie. No more gay dreams for me. Nope.

As I rolled over one last time, I wondered what it had been like for Loki to give birth to his various monster-babies.

I wish I hadn't done that, because my dreams that night were filled with oviopostulation and giving birth to large wolves—even though I was male.

Fuck my life.


End file.
